Ben Welsher | Writings

Day 95 - Hội An Umbrella eh? Would you like an umbrella sir? Eh Eh? Cometh the rains in central Vietnam (and they do cometh) cometh the men with the means to keep you dry. My path had crossed Rory's again and we were sat outside a bar in Hội An as rain gently pattered the glistening streets. We took it in turns to politely decline the repeated offer from the salesmen who appeared in their multitudes after the first drop hit the ground. There was however no need for their flimsy, mass-produced protection from the elements. We *were* the elements. Toughened and smoothed by hills and valleys and time. Two pebbles in the stream. I'd got to Hội An the night before and realising that Rory was in town had agreed to join him on an organised pub crawl. It was like a form of speed-dating without the prospect of a date at the end of it. Most conversations with the other 'crawlers lasted only a few minutes and covered the basics of name, nationality, where you'd been and where you

Day 95 - Huè My similarities to a Mandalorian begin and end with the wearing of a helmet. While the life of an interstellar bounty hunter is undoubtedly exciting this journey is also imbued with a certain freewheeling self-determination. I just hope I don't fall into a sarlacc pit. And for the first time in a couple of days I don't feel like I will. A night's sleep unruffled by (excessive) booze has led to a morning free from hangover and riding that is fun again. My mood is reflected in the landscape as the road bends to skirt the South China Sea. It becomes free of traffic and to my right is countryside. To my left begins to stretch mile after mile of empty beaches broken only by colourful fishing boats pulled up onto the sand. The road is good and I can safely take my eyes off it long enough to be lulled by surroundings that finally reflect those scenes I conjured in my mind before I started the ride. We are fed so many idealised images of travel, inaccurate at best and

Day 93 - Dong Hoi Is hair of the dog a universal concept? (certain stricter Muslim countries aside). If so there may be something in it. Nevertheless I declined the café owner's kind offer of a beer and a toke on his enormous pipe (arf) and settled for a black coffee instead. A coffee served neither hot nor cold and the fact that the right word for this temperature escapes me shows the effects of my escapades over the past two nights. It was but a bitter drop in the black ocean of my fatigue. Anticipating an even worse day than yesterday I wearily swung my leg over the bike. After a few kilometres of riding that felt like nails on a chalkboard, if my brain was the chalkboard and the nails were nails, I pulled over to the side of the road. There was only one thing for it, I needed the help of a patron saint. Now you'd think that Saint Christopher would be the obvious choice, his specialism being travellers and all. But I felt a bit hypocritical calling on the help of a holy man

Day 92 - Vinh Even in the most nihilistic recesses of a life lived under a 'light-touch' regulation of desire I struggle to justify the decision to ride with a steepling hangover. Not only because it increases the likelihood of death but also because it makes the time leading up to that death also feel like death. Not for me the rat-a-tat of Bonnie and Clyde's defiant end nor the Thelma and Louise weightlessness of being beyond reach. I haven't named the bike so I can't even meet my surely imminent demise was a plus one. Not that the bike would die of course, just look at the speedo. They'd pick it up, the police perhaps if they could spare a second from grift but more likely the locals, and it would be dusted off and back on the road in a day or two. Me they'd sluice into the gutter like they were shopkeepers cleaning their shopfronts, which they could be. To die on day two of this epic journey would make it look like a foolish idea and I can't have pe

Day 91 - Hanoi "Of course I want to take it for a test ride". I don't want to take it for a test ride. I want to give this man $600 and quietly crash my new bike around the corner where he can't see me. But that wouldn't be proper so I gingerly take the bike down the unnecessarily steep ramp from the warehouse to the road. I say 'new' bike but it's got over 500,000km on the clock. Is that a lot for a bike? It sounds like a lot. Too much? I don't know. The ignition only started with extreme reluctance I know that much. It's been sitting there for a while the man explains. Is that a bad sign? I don't know. If I stall it during my test ride I'm walking back to the warehouse I know that much. Can you stall a bike? I think so. Well the thing goes forward and all the gears work and so, eventually, do both of the brakes. It has a wide comfortable seat and has luggage racks and a mobile phone holder for the navigation and is $600 too much for

Day 86 - Ha Long Bay If you're in Northern Vietnam then you certainly have to or at least ought to or possibly shouldn't visit Ha Long Bay. With this sort of conviction Rory (my Dutch friend from the Ha Giang Loop) and I find ourselves on a minibus to the bay and our path unavoidably intersecting with *shudder* a tour. The bus driver has a drop-off itinerary for the passengers and virtually no English. We stop to let off some other passengers and, noticing that we're only six minutes walk from our own hostel, we hop out. But the bus driver knows that this isn't our scheduled stop and enthusiastically waves us back onboard. Well alright we could get a bit closer and save our legs so we comply. My spidey sense is tingling though. And reader, sometimes you must trust these instincts when travelling. Because the driver then drives us back in the opposite direction with any logical hopes of looping back to our hostel rapidly diminishing. We end up miles away and on the phon